Fat Intervention

My Mother invites me to lunch, her treat. (Of course, I have to find and pay for a sitter but let's be positive, right?) Five minutes after sitting down she can't hold it in any longer. She blurts, "I really thought you must be really mad at me about the email I wrote you."

"What email?" I say.

"I wrote you an email and titled it 'For your Eyes Only' just in case Van (my hubby) would see it." she says.

I should state here that my Mom (Ronda) holds the belief that every forwarded email she gets is so very clever and is a "must see" for me. As such, I am in the habit of deleting most of her emails without opening them.

"What was it about?" I ask.

"Well, now I feel silly for worrying that you were mad at me..." she begins.
"I guess you don't realize how heavy a person is until you see them in a bathing suit... and when I saw you at that 4th of July picnic I was just shocked at how big you'd gotten."

At this point I am thinking how much courage it took for me to appear in a bathing suit in front of my family. But, on that day, I thought about how much my children love to swim and how much I love to swim with them and decided that their happiness was more important than my vanity. I didn't want my weight to keep my children or I from enjoying ourselves. I remember how hard it was at that picnic to act like I didn't care how big my body was and just carry on and have fun.

"Also," she continues, "I mentioned Leann and her running around with her tits hanging out and don't you think Van notices her?"

Leann is my nineteen year old babysitter whom Van and I have known since she was 14. We are good friends with her parents and have seen her through many awkward phases. My Mother thinks Leann is a temptation for Van? Unbelievable. Not that she couldn't be a temptation... she's young and cute but as Van said when I told him about the conversation, "Give me a little credit Ronda...besides, that kid annoys the sh*t out of me!"

At any rate, the conversation continues and I get the feeling I am in the middle of some sort of fatty intervention.

Why do people feel the need to confront you and your "problems"? I mean, I would understand if I were a drug addict or something, neglecting my children. And if her main concern were my children or my health, I might even be open to her "intervention". But these are not her main concerns.

"What about Van?" She asks. "Don't you think he deserves a skinny wife? Don't you think he will go and find it somewhere else if he isn't getting it from you?"

Okay, so I feel compelled to stop her here and remind her that I have had three children in the last six years so obviously, my hubby is "getting it" often enough. Second, what the hell? Perhaps in her marriage(s) there is no more to the relationship than physical attraction (oh, and money, there's money, too) but my marriage has more than that. Certainly physical attraction is important, but I guess my husband loves me enough to love all of me. Maybe he still thinks of me the way I looked when we met and before the kids... I don't know. What I do know is that there is no lacking in intimacy in our relationship and ours is one hell of a lot healthier than hers.

One of the main problems is that I was raised to believe that physical appearance, material things, having more that others is most important in life. I have since learned differently and constantly struggle to overcome years of brainwashing by my beautiful and narcissistic mother. I suppose her point in all of this is that I have gone and committed the ultimate sin... I got fat. Oh, and I occasionally venture out of the house without make-up. Yes, I should be excommunicated from the church of material wealth and judgemental pricks. And I would be proud to be thrown from their midst.

Back to our conversation...

"...so I'm just really concerned about you. You are much too young and pretty to let yourself go and ..." she is saying.

"Wait, wait," I interrupt her, "you think I'm overweight? Me? Huh. I've haven't looked in a mirror or been on a scale in the last six years. I had no idea I might have some extra pounds."
(I wanted to add that I hadn't even bought new clothes and that I was still somehow squeezing
my 300 pound ass into my size tens... but I resisted.)

She looks at me scornfully.

"Seriously, Mom, did this really warrant an email and a lunch? Do you think I am unaware of myself? Did you think I was just hoping it was 'a little water weight'? Of course not. So why do you feel the need to address MY weight in an email?

She lays on the guilt.

"Well, I just wanted to let you know I am concerned. I mean, your health will suffer and your kids will be embarrassed by you."

I back down. This makes me think. Are my kids embarrassed by me? Am I going to die a premature donut-induced death and leave Van to raise the kids by himself, or, if my mum is right, with Leann?
Then I remember that I am not her. That I am trying to raise my children better. That, hopefully, I have taught them better than to be embarrassed by appearances.

I tell her that I am trying and that I am aware of the problem. That conversations like this one only make me feel worse.

I think maybe she needs to focus on her own life. She's got a husband she despises, a dissatisfying job, and she shops and drinks to make herself happy. But I mention none of this. I thank her for her concern and tell her I'll let her know how things are going.

I tell her maybe Van deleted the email, thinking it might hurt my feelings. Gently trying to tell her that she has hurt my feelings.

"He's very protective of me in that way." I say, hinting maybe she could stand to be more like Van in this way.

I go home, find the email unopened in my inbox. I delete it without reading it. It will only hurt me more and serve no good purpose. Much like my mother's "intervention lunch".

Big Girl

Out of the mouths of snot-nosed babes

My children don't believe in privacy, especially mine. The other day I was going to the loo and my oldest opened the door so I wouldn't feel so lonely all by myself in there, I assume.

He perches on the edge of the tub. "Wow Mom, your butt covers the whole toilet!" I suppose this would be sight for someone who has to prop himself up so he doesn't fall in, but I didn't think it a very nice comment.

"Out." I simply say, pointing to the door. "Mommy needs privacy."

My middle child has a strange fascination with my upper body. "Look Mommy!" He'll say, poking at my stomach and watch it jiggle, all the while giggling furiously. Hey, at least I can entertain him easily.

My youngest thinks blowing raspberries on my enormous stomach is the most fun ever. I, mean while, have a saliva-covered belly button. This goes on a lot longer than one would think would be fun, until I have to cut the spit-session short, tugging my shirt down and announcing it's snack time.

Big Girl

On the Plus side...

I was picking up my son from school day, standing outside with a bunch of other parents. A smallish mother walks up and stands between me and a muscled father, complaining about the unseasonably cold weather.

"Well," I say, "I guess that's one of the few good things about being over-weight... I'm never cold, I've got an extra layer!" I laugh heartily at my joke and they just smile awkwardly. Apparently my bragging about being fat makes them uncomfortable?

Gee, I'd hate to make a skinny person feel uncomfortable. I know how hard it is to be around a fat person in the first place. Thanks for tolerating my presence, I promise to be quiet now.

But the truth is I really am rarely cold. Often I am sweating when others are completely comfortable. So I guess it's sort of a nice change of pace to be at a nice temperature for me.

Big Girl

Living Large

I once was on a plane (in my smaller days) and I heard a man calling out from the back, "My wife needs a seat-belt extender!" I thought "there are so many things wrong with that statement." First of all, what the heck is a seat-belt extender? Second, shouldn't he be asking for one more quietly? and third, why isn't his wife choking him to death for asking for one?

OK. If I ever do need a seat belt extender (if I don't breathe for a minute, I can still get it buckled!), I certainly wouldn't ask my husband to get one for me. Also, how important is a seat belt on an airplane anyway? Not important enough to be humiliated while a teeny tiny flight attendant goes to look for one. Possibly asking her co-workers, gesturing in my direction as she explains my request. No thank you. If the plane does go down, I'd rather die not strapped to my seat. Maybe they would find me tossed from the fuselage in some body of water and assume I am bloated... not just too fat for the seat belt and too proud to ask for a seat-belt extender.

So I know they make you buckle on planes but really... what flight attendant is going to risk me flipping out on her (or him) and demanding more than my fair share of the "in-flight snack" as recompense for suggesting that it is absolutely imperative that I am buckled nice and tight? And anyway, it's not as if there is a lot of room for me to go bouncing around the plane. I mean, come on, when I sit down I am wedged in there pretty good.

This post is bordering on ranting so I'll stop.

Big Girl

The Gym (GULP)

The gym: Day one.

First of all, I am meeting a friend here to show me "the ropes" (seriously... there are no ropes, right?). She is about 30 years older than I am and weighs less than half as much, I am sure. At any rate, good tour, good work out. I especially enjoyed the way my legs push my stomach rolls the whole way up to my chin on the stationary bike. Sweet.

I also noticed a small warning on the bike that read: Weight Capacity: 250 pounds. Hm. Am I the only person who sees the irony in this? I sit down with images of nuts and bolts and spinning parts flying out beneath the pressure of my over-capacity body and beaning my well-meaning friend in the head. Yikes. Gingerly, I set my eight ounce water bottle on the floor, not wanting to "break the camel's back" as it were.

Did I mention this is a university gym? Yeah. My friend is a professor's wife and I am a "donor" to the school (slipped a 20 dollar bill in with my gym application, I did). So exactly what someone who is a little panicked about turning thirty and weighing 300 pounds needs is to be surrounded by sorority girls... in the gym. Nice. I go early... apparently sorority girls and frat guys sleep late.

30 and 300 (Explanation)

I don't see why it would need an explanation but here goes. A few months ago I went to the doctor for the first time in a year and found (inexplicably!) that I weighed three hundred pounds. On top of which I was about to turn thirty years old. It hit me, well, I can't say it hit me too hard because I haven't been below 250 in about six years. But it still hurt and I don't think I cried or anything but it really changed the way I thought of myself. You see, I'm not like other fat people... I'm skinny on the inside... it's just my uncontrollable need to stuff myself that sets me apart from an "average weight" person.



OK. So, at the same it was hitting me in the face that I was turning thirty. So we all know that 30 is the new 20 and all that but I happened to be spending a lot of time with a super-annoying 19 year old who made me feel older at every turn. ("Who is Nirvana?" and "Well, I think I know what show you are talking about but I've never actually seen an episode of Friends.")



At any rate here I am with this number in my head. Funny thing is the number wasn't actually 300. It might have been 292 or something but it was close enough that every time sat down I would think, I wonder if this chair can hold 300 pounds. I went to a parent teacher conference and the tiny skinny teacher gestured to two child-size chairs for my husband and I to sit it. I remember thinking (as my cheeks hung off the sides of the chair), "this chair was not meant for a 300 pound ass." So you see my dilemma. It was that number... that "300 pounds" that was stuck in my head.



Three weeks later I joined a gym. OK so what I want to say here is this: "That was three months ago and here I am 20 pounds lighter and eating better!" But that's not what I am going to say. I work out on average twice a week and I will honestly tell you that I do not enjoy it. What I do enjoy is alone time away from my three children and getting a chance to read a book without interruption.



I have no idea how much I weigh or if I've lost any weight at all, as I have resolved not to weigh myself until, well, until I decide to weigh myself. I'll let you know when that happens.

As for food, well, we are old friends and I won't turn my back on an old friend. Seriously, lately I have heard the term "foody" to describe someone who loves food and I like this term. Honestly, sometimes I tell myself "No... you can't have that" or "No, it's too late to eat" Or "No, you don't need a fourth helping of macaroni and cheese..." But often times I don't tell myself "No" at all.

But I still have hope. I still have faith that I can do this. And if I don't at least I know I tried... just probably not hard enough!

What follows are posts that I have recorded on my computer during the last three months that I have decided need to be made (eek!) public. I'll let you know when things are back to present day big girl.


Big Girl